


and the rivers were none

by ginger_green



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Dragon Age Lore, Gen, Mythology - Freeform, Post-Canon, Shapeshifting, Songfic, Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 12:54:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21271373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginger_green/pseuds/ginger_green
Summary: ...and I hoped for a trace to lead me back home from this place - but there was no sound, there was only me and my disgrace.





	and the rivers were none

The stars are beautiful in Tevinter. Especially in late summer, when skies are clear and black as pitch. It is very warm in the deserts and on the plains; one can often observe wolf packs migrating south, into the mountains of Nevarra and the northern forests of Orlais. They walk miles a day, driven by some unknown ancient instinct, the taste or smell of the wind which points them to where nights are colder and food is more plentiful. They walk alone, fending for themselves against varghrests and hyenas which are more accustomed to high temperatures and feel at home amongst the blistering sands under Neromenian walls and in ashen-covered ruins of Barindur.

Centuries ago, before the Imperium, old Neromenian tribeswomen watched the stars and told men to herd the cattle. 'The White Wolf is rising,' they'd say, pointing at the sky. 'His children are coming down from the plains.'

But who is the White Wolf?

The legend says he was once the king of all wolves, that he ran with Alamarri hunters and chased their game, and that they feasted every year and never knew hunger because the White Wolf would always hunt well. The humans took him as their own and named him a brother. His love for them grew so strong that he gifted them some of his children, picking friendliest pups out of each litter. Soon each hunter had a loyal wolf-child at their side, and each hunted as well as the White Wolf himself. And the men grew proud of their servants and greedy of food, and the White Wolf's meals began to shrink as each hunter gave less and less.

'Why do we need the White Wolf to hunt with us,' the men said, 'if the weakest runt in our pens runs just as fast and asks for nothing in return?'

One day they swooped upon the White Wolf while he slept, wounded him gravely and chased him off to the North, through the forests and mountains and into the deepest barren wasteland on the shores of Boeric ocean. He ran for many miles until his paws were covered in open sores and his eyes began to weep red. Then he walked a long way to the shore, day and night, never resting as he saw campfires behind his path. He could only crawl by the time his chase reached the seashore, and his eyes saw no more and his ears heard nothing but the sound of his own ragged breath. The hunters were close, and his death was imminent.

The White Wolf gathered all his strength and called out to the gods of this faraway land and asked them to shield his final hour in their mercy.

And the gods heard his plea. They took him into the sky, right before the eyes of the greedy hunters. His snowy-white coat glimmered with starlight. There he lay undisturbed for ages to come. Fenrir they call it, that constellation seen from Neromenian streets in early August.

Ever since Tevinter settlers stir clear of migrating wolf packs, and lock their doors if they see a white pelt among the handful of grey and brown. Fear is thick in their blood, mundane to such degree that they don't even know what they fear any longer. Fenrir sees everything. His watch is a silent one.

But do his children even look at the stars as they trek back on his path? Do they know the tale, feel an unfamiliar ache in their bones? When the sky is black and Fenrir looks down upon them - does their song ever reach his hearing?

The old mother-wolf yawned, staring into darkness that enveloped everything beyond the stone gate of her lair. She was very old and very tired. Still she kept her worried gaze on the sand-covered rocks, watching for anything that could menace her younger brothers and sisters. Nothing stirred in the dead of night, and the mother-wolf's eyes began to close, sleep weighing heavy upon her.

But wait!- she started, awaken momentarily by some small movement. Someone crouched toward the cave entrance, very quiet - too quiet.

Mother-wolf arose with tense anticipation and lunged forward to meet the interloper head-on. She stopped in her tracks, however, and glanced in surprise as a fellow wolf emerged from the shadows and approached on soft foot, wiggling his tail like a common dog. His clear white fur shined in scarce light of stars and new moon.

Careful and alert, mother-wolf watched him come closer and closer. This wolf was very strange, though he did not seem to be meaning harm to her or the pack. Still she arched her back and barred her teeth when the distance between them became too short. A low chthonic rumble gurgled deep in her throat, not quite manifesting in a growl yet. The strange wolf stopped and fell on his forelegs, bowing his head and tilting his ears back, more in submission than defense. His tail kept wiggling left and right as a gesture of good will.

Mother-wolf was confused. Little by little the rumble in her throat faded and her jowls relaxed. The intruder rose and tried to approach once more, but she fended him off. He fell and waited again until she calmed down, then made another step. Thus he moved towards her even as she warned him not to, declaring that she won't hesitate to grab him by the throat should he make any threatening move. But he didn't, and so she let him proceed until he almost bumped into her, stumbling clumsily like a newborn pup.

After such profound display of silliness mother-wolf could no longer take this intruder seriously. She waved her tail and proceeded to standard sniffing ritual, indicating gracious agreement for a new acquaintance. The white wolf booped her nose with his as if uncertain what to do. She gave him another soft growl, and he fell in line and allowed her to inspect him from head to tail.

Yes, he was positively very strange. For starters, he had no smell. No, he did smell of sand and dragonthorn flower and all sorts of things found in a desert - yet his own odors, sweat, milk or wet fur, were nowhere to be found. Mother-wolf shook her head. She was adamant against bringing this shame back into the cave. What would the pack think?

She approached this problem same way as she did with all others - methodically and without nonsense. She started by giving the stranger a bath. Her dry tongue ruffled his fur, leaving warmth and proper wolf-smell on his body. That's when all of a sudden the stranger fell and rolled on his belly, paws twitching in the air without any purpose. Wolf-mother was very old and had seen many things, but this was the first time her lonesome cousin has managed to disgrace the noble call of their blood to such profound extent.

Having considered all symptoms, mother-wolf concluded that this pup has never met a fellow wolf before. His manners could not be blamed on anything but years of isolation. So she decided to accept him as he was, strange though he might be, and to integrate him into the pack as soon as his dim wit permits it.

She nudged him towards the cavern and guarded his rear all the way in a patronizing manner, watching him closely as he slipped into the shadow of the tunnel. Other pack members were already asleep, and only two young ones turned their heads to see who's coming. Mother-wolf swirled her tail around the stranger, showing both him and the pups who is in charge of this decision. They understood and soon returned into the sweet embrace of sleep.

The stranger circled the cavern with anxious look about him; clearly he was uncertain as to the location of his sleeping place. He tried to make a move for the spot of mother-wolf's but she swiftly grabbed him by the ear, scratching it with her sharp fangs just enough to get the message across. He whimpered and crawled away from her, closer to youngsters. Mother-wolf relaxed and granted him with a look of approval. She nestled on her spot, keeping watch of the newcomer with one eye.

He slept soon. His limbs twitched lightly, and he whimpered without waking. Mother-wolf was very old and had seen much. The white wolf was dreaming of chase. Had she been more human, she would ask herself if he is dreaming of hunting - or maybe being hunted? But she was not human at all, and she knew only that the white wolf is odd and lonely and pitiful, that he wants to be here and is need of care. So she cared, and her simple soul rested easy when he fell silent, overcome with dreamless slumber, or perhaps with more pleasant visions.

Mother-wolf lay head on her paws, staring into the dark. Suddenly, as if in a moment of clarity, she raised her yellow gaze toward the stars. Some distant longing caressed her heart like a light breeze.

The stars really were beautiful in Tevinter.


End file.
